


Alive and Well

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's luck runs out sometime- Carolina just didn't expect theirs to run out before hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive and Well

**Author's Note:**

> more disjointed fic. i debated having a different ending but i think i'll just fic that out elsewhere, hrm. season 10 what are you doing to me ;A; ON THE PLUS SIDE i am finally writing these guys again, and not everyone else.

York kicks his feet once, twice, and then a final time with a little huff, the sheets all pushed to the side, rolling onto his stomach. 

“D, how long are you gonna do this?” 

Flickering into existence, Delta dims himself enough so that he doesn't hurt York's eyes, and tips his helmet at his partner. “I apologize, I thought I had slowed enough to keep from disturbing you while you rested,” he says quietly, and neither of them are surprised when down the hall, they hear North's door open, and a heavy sigh echo through the halls. It's nearing two in the morning, but that doesn't stop either of them, even when York wishes it would.

Sleep isn't going to work tonight, though, not until Delta's simmered down a little bit, and York forces himself out of bed with a tired sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright, D, let's go,” York sighs, wiggling his feet around on the ground until he finds one of the socks he'd tossed off when he'd attempted to sleep, the other eluding him until Delta flashes on next to it, halfway across the room. 

Grunting his thanks, he meanders on over and tugs a shirt on to go with his pants, toeing into a pair of sneakers. He takes off down the hall a few moments later, doing a quick pit stop to the kitchen, taking a few water bottles, and hitting the locker rooms too, to grab a towel. 

“--D, seriously, I don't want to know statistics about how many germs are left over on these things after we clean them. Some things are just better off not being known. Here--” York sits heavily after flicking the coffee maker on, listening to it start up behind him, while Carolina twists, punching solidly at the next enemy. “Do me a favor. Run some probabilities for me, yeah?” 

Downstairs, Carolina twists, ducking and tumbling to avoid the paint guns that they use, firing back in a rush and taking two of the turrets out. 

“What kind of probabilities would you like me to run?” 

Carolina finishes the round, slamming her fist into the last turret and cracking it in half, the machine whirring and whining as it dies, leaving her standing there a moment, while everything resets. 

“Let me know how long she can keep this up.” 

 

 

Carolina ends it nearly an hour later, stripping out of her armor and into a loose pair of shorts and a tank top, wet from a quick shower, her hair tied tightly back. It's no surprise to find York there; he only grins at her sour look, tossing a water bottle at her, one of his own half-drained after he'd started in on that rather than the coffee. 

“I don't need you to watch out for me.” There's no hiding her tone, no attempt at softening it for the two of them while they stand there and York's lips quirk up, entirely unconcerned that she's frustrated-- he would be too, maybe, if in her place, but somehow he doesn't think that's too likely. Carolina's always taken things a little harder, here. 

“Nope,” he agrees cheerfully, and tosses a towel at her, too, watching her drape it around her neck, pleased she doesn't argue with him about it. “So it's a good thing I ain't watchin' out for you.” 

_Agent York, that is clearly a lie-- you do this every night and Agent Carolina is aware of--_

“Yeah?” Carolina gives him a look, half-irritated, half-resigned, and York smooths back Delta's confusion at that, telling him _you'll see_. “Why, the Director have you posted as a look-out for his tech, making sure I don't ruin too much of it in one night?” 

“You got me!” He throws one hand up with a little _what can I do?_ shrug, and walks with her on the way back to their rooms. In the back of his mind, Delta starts running probabilities and statistics again, low and warm and humming in the back of his mind. He scratches at his arm absently-- the sensation of Delta working always makes his skin crawl, not out of disgust but it's just weird, having someone else thinking there all the time. “Director's awfully concerned about all his shiny toys, so I gotta make sure you take it easy on 'em.”

“And your interest is strictly business, I'm sure.” There's less humor in her voice right now, though, and York opens his mouth to ward it off, but Delta appears first.

“Agent York is not solely concerned about the state of the training equipment. If all of it were to be destroyed, there would always be other ways to acquire it. However, he is rightfully concerned about your habits of overworking yourself, and I agree. If you continue at this rate, it is likely that you will not be able to sustain an AI once you are--” 

York doesn't need to see the look on her face to know that she's probably pissed-- she's always been able to do things for herself, never needed anyone else looking out for her. Thus far, they've both just acted like he wasn't there- he keeps an eye out for her and she doesn't ever say anything about it if he doesn't, but this--

“D, retire now, okay?”

 

 

Later, he'll explain to Delta that some things shouldn't be explained-- that people, humans, specifically, sometimes don't talk about something that is out there, because it's better left unsaid for the time being. Unsurprisingly, Delta thinks that's foolish. 

“It's-- not everyone wants to talk about the elephant in the roo-- I don't mean that literally, Del. I just mean that Carolina knows I sit up there and I go up there, and we don't ever really need to talk about it. It's better if we don't.” 

There's no amount of explaining that helps, though, but Delta lets it go finally, his light flickering out as he finally settles down enough for York to sleep, though he's too anxious by that point to even consider it. Delta's own mental state is too much to keep up with sometimes, no matter how much he'd like to imagine that he can, perfectly. 

 

In the end, York keeps watch every night until that low, uneasy, bad feeling that Delta always has comes true, and not even his keeping watch saves her. The last time he sees her, she's being wheeled away by medics and North's at his back with his hands shielding the view from Theta, cupped around the little AI. 

“You did what you could, York,” North says quietly, and knows that it's not enough. 

 

 

 _You're doing everything you can_ , York tells her in the middle of the night, when the two of them are stuck on watch on opposite sides of the building while Maine, Wash and North work infiltration. She scoffs over the radio all the same, not believing any word of it-- she can always do more. She always needs to do more. _Boss, you hear me? You're doing everything you can._

_Then I need to do it better._

The words linger on the tip of her tongue, bitter and rotten as she stares down the mess that Wash and Wyoming made not that long ago, rubble and ruin everywhere from the timer that Wash had set back then. There's no traces left of York, nothing to indicate he'd made it, and that knowledge is somehow more crushing than hearing it the first time. He'd always been able to survive anything-- the grenade, multiple close calls-- he had always been lucky, and now, seeing this mess, she doesn't understand why it chose right then to run out for him and Delta. 

There are parts and pieces of his armor everywhere-- Carolina picks up a charred piece of gold armor and tosses it over the side, out into the water, and clenches her teeth behind her helmet. Wash had told her the chances of him surviving were slim to none-- he'd been shot, Delta had been taken and the suit had been destroyed. There was no way, short of him miraculously waking up, the armor not blowing and him dodging the blast. Everyone's luck runs out sometime.

 _I told you that Texas was trouble_. Carolina kicks aside some of the mess, and wishes that she wasn't right.


End file.
